Sunday, November 20, 2016

Rob Schackne #163 - Susurrus

SusurrusSuppose it beginsat the sub-atomic levelparticles buzzinglike the businessnothing not excitedthat some may call loveinsects and flowersvibrate hard with itwhat some may call heatthe loud shimmeringthe low pulsing beatso by now you knowthis world is hummingalive with strange whispersent across a universelistening carefullyfor a clue to our demisethat some may call lifewith a fading soundthe last bird songthe last burning sunhow some beseech youmeanwhile other planetscircling other suns far awaysuppose two others do the same

2 comments:

Dear Robbie, These days I spend more time unwriting. So you see now this damn thing pared down, edited, distilled to a few fewer lines, to one kind of essence. I guess, if I had to, I'd leave this poem only as 'how some beseech you' - a poem too mad and private to be a poem. Which, though universal enough for a wall or sidewalk message, is too little to get anyone up and shouting. And certainly too un-Brownian. But I suppose that one sad day poetry will be IV-ed directly, and each superfluous word systematically discarded, automatically unnecessary. :)